Page 12 of Falling for Her Highland Steward
“If you wish.” His voice was dismissive. Obviously, he did not think guards were necessary, but Erin knew her people. It was better to be safe than sorry.
Erin was once more wearing her breeches, but Caillen made no comment, although she caught him once looking at her appreciatively before he hastily averted his eyes.
Once they had mounted, Caillen smiled at her. “Lead on, milady,” he instructed.
Erin took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment before urging her horse forward over the drawbridge and onto the rough moorland grass. It was an overcast day, threatening rain, but the patchwork of hills, fields, trees, and hedgerows before them was no less beautiful for that.
The land rolled into the distance, ridge upon ridge, disappearing over the horizon, and the trees, now donning their colorful autumn coats of red and gold, blazed against the tranquil greens and grays.
The sheeps’ autumn wool was so thick that they looked like myriads of fluffy balls as they dotted the hills, and shaggy rust-colored Highland cattle grazed alongside them, their great fierce horns belying their gentle nature.
“I think autumn must be the most beautiful time of year,” Erin remarked, smiling. “Summer is lovely too, but look at the trees.” She pointed to a huge oak whose leaves were a stunning shade of bright yellow. “As if they are showing off their best clothes just before winter when they are stripped away.”
Caillen said nothing and merely smiled. It was good to be out in the open, riding in the fresh country air instead of the smog of his hometown, in the company of a lovely woman. At this moment, life seemed very good.
Presently, they came to a small whitewashed cottage where a brawny man was standing on a ladder threading bunches of grass into a large hole in its thatched roof, while two other men were sawing at the overhanging branch of a large spruce tree. They could see by the pile of wood on the ground that the branch had been too heavy to come down in one piece and was having to be chopped down foot-long lengths. It looked like exhausting work, but they could see that progress was being made, if slowly.
A small gray-haired woman stood, staring anxiously at the workmen and hugging herself, but she looked around when she heard the sound of the horses’ hooves. She frowned and moved toward Erin, then waited until she dismounted before she spoke.
“Milady,” she said politely, “thank ye for sending the men tae fix my house. It is goin’ tae be a wee bit warmer now.”
Erin smiled at the old lady. “I am sorry, Mistress Canning,” she replied sadly. “I should never have allowed things to get into such a state.”
The old lady smiled at her. “It wasnae yer fault, milady,” she said gently. “The laird was that sick he probably couldnae dae things right.”
“That is true,” Erin agreed. “But things will be done properly now. I am employing Master Johnstone here”—she indicated Caillen—“to see to the problems on the estate.”
Mistress Canning’s eyes widened as she stared at Caillen. “Pleased tae meet ye, sir,” she said faintly. “I am glad ye are here.”
“So am I, Mistress Canning,” Caillen assured her. “I am going to set about putting Gowanlea to rights as fast as I can, but if there is anything you need, please send a boy to the castle to give me a message. If I am not there, one of the guards will take it and pass it on. You will never be forgotten.” He smiled at her widely, and she smiled back, obviously enchanted by this big, handsome man.
“Thank ye, sir,” she replied, returning his smile. “It is good tae know ye are here.”
As they rode away, Erin said: “Well done, Caillen. She likes you.”
“Thank you,” he replied. “But you did the work.”
“You did all the charming!” Erin laughed. “First children, then old ladies. Who will you work your magic on next?”
“There is no magic.” He shrugged. “I just listen to what people say and help them if I can. And call me Cal, please.”
“Very good advice,” Erin said thoughtfully. “I will take it to heart, Cal.”
They rode on a little further, aiming for the village of Gowanlea itself, but as soon as they rode into the main street, a woman ran into their path yelling and brandishing a spade.
“Aye! Milady muck!” she cried furiously. “Where have ye been while our houses are fallin’ down round about us?” She was a redheaded woman in her middle years, and her face was a mask of fury as she advanced on Erin, brandishing a wooden spade. “I’ll tell ye! Lyin’ about in yer fancy castle lookin’ down on us!” She was waving the spade so close to her horse’s nose that he began to rear up and skitter sideways, neighing in panic.
At that moment, having heard the woman’s voice, an angry crowd began to emerge from all sides and pour into the street, each one carrying a makeshift weapon of some kind. In a matter of moments, they were surrounded by a forest of spades, hoes, and pitchforks.
Erin calmed her horse as best she could, but when one of the villagers hit him on the rump with a spade, he reared up so high that she was thrown onto the muddy ground.
The guards had plunged into the crowd, but even they were unable to penetrate the furious mob, who were now baying for blood.
6
Caillen saw the whole scene unfold in front of him but could do nothing to help as his own horse was also beginning to panic. He could see that Erin had not been rendered unconscious since her eyes were still open, but the villagers, possessed by some collective madness, were about to start beating her.
“Enough!” he roared as he jumped onto the ground. The mob gasped and froze in terror as Caillen unsheathed his claymore, and his gaze slid around them in a slow circle. He was seething inside, but he said nothing to the crowd as he bent down to help Erin to her feet.
